


Oh, hush thee, babe!

by nolimepercipere



Series: Songs of Innocence [4]
Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Age Regression/De-Aging, Bed-Wetting, Caregiver Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani, Emotional Hurt, Flashbacks, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Little Nicky | Nicolo di Genova, M/M, Nicky | Nicolò di Genova Needs a Hug, Non-Sexual Age Play, Self-Hatred, love is stored in the yusuf
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-21
Updated: 2021-02-26
Packaged: 2021-03-17 15:48:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29595111
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nolimepercipere/pseuds/nolimepercipere
Summary: “Did you do something bad? Is that why they left you here?”That must have been it: He was bad.And he most likely had been bad from the very first breath he’d taken.
Relationships: Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani & Nicky | Nicolo di Genova, Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova, Nicky | Nicolo di Genova & Original Character(s)
Series: Songs of Innocence [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2101896
Comments: 14
Kudos: 79





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello once again folks! I’m afraid this first chapter is pretty much all hurt and no comfort, but fear not! Joe will bring all the comfort when he appears in the next chapter.  
> In the timeline of the series this story is set sometime after Joe finds out about Nicky’s "secret", but before they both acknowledged his role as Nicolò’s baba.  
> A good part of this first chapter is made up of flashbacks to Nicolò’s childhood, which wasn’t exactly the nicest :(
> 
> As usual, I apologize for any mistakes as this was not beta’d and English is not my first language.
> 
> (Translations in the End Notes)

“I’m sorry, father”.

Shoulders heaving with hiccuping sobs, Nicolò can feel the snot and tears run down his face. His small hands are too busy clenching the damp material of his tunic to keep it up and away from his skin as Padre Mariano scrubs perfunctorily at his legs using Nicolò’s own ruined coverlet dipped in a pail of cold water taken straight from the Fiumara. 

“This is the third time this week, Nicolò '', he sounds tired and of course he is. The Lauds were not much earlier and it’s now almost time for Prime. 

He screws his eyes shut with fear, but he can still feel the stare of the other brothers crowding the door of his cell. Nicolò feels forever trapped between their pity and disgust. 

“I warned you we shouldn’t have taken him in. We are to worship our Lord here not play nurse for some little ba-”

“That's enough, Gedeone!”, that’s the Prior's voice, echoing loudly against the cold walls of the cell. “It was the Abbot’s decision. You may as well take it up to him if you so much disagree.”

“He’s a distraction and a disruption!”

“I don’t see you washing the child nor his beddings, brother Gedeone. I fear the only thing distracting you from the love of our Lord is your constant complaining!”

A few tense moments of silence follow the exchange. Nicolò tries his best to stop his body from making those wretched noises – lest he draws the attention back to his sorry self. 

When the Prior speaks again his voice is back to its usual sober timbre, “Is he clean?”

Padre Mariano hesitates for a moment, “Yes, Father”

The Prior lets out a weary breath, “Hands on your pallet, Nicolò” 

* * *

Nicolò is startled back to wakefulness with a start. He waits and waits, body tense and heart racing as a feeling of distress and anxiety threatens to choke his breath away. 

A quiet mumble behind him finally helps Nicolò remember where he is. Yusuf’s warmth is a comforting presence against his back. His arms tighten slightly around Nicolò’s waist and, bringing him closer to his chest, he buries his face to the side of his neck.

Yusuf’s touch manages to calm him down, somewhat. His heart stops trying to beat his way out of his ribcage and he starts slowly unclenching his tense muscles, relaxing ever so slightly against his beloved’s warm embrace. Still, the dream – the memory, a quiet voice whispers inside his head – has left him feeling hazily unsettled and clammy all over.

Lately the days and nights have already started to come alight with the promise of summer. What he feels is a familiar warmth, a dampness he associates with restless, oftentimes sleepless, nights. 

More than once, since they first started sharing a bedroll, Yusuf has woken him with the unconscious press of his hardness against his thigh or backside – and try as he might not to, Nicolò still feels himself blush at the thought of it.

Yusuf blames each occurence on their predicament, claiming it has blessed him with renewed stamina and desires. Nicolò knows these claims to be feeble excuses and, secretly, he delights in knowing that his body has that kind of effect on Yusuf even in sleep.

But this time, as his mind wakes more and more, he can tell something is different. First, he realizes that the damp feeling giving him discomfort is not spreading from Yusuf who keeps on sleeping soundly and unmoving at his back.

There is also too much wetness around his thighs and crotch. 

Slowly, as not to disturb Yusuf’s rest, he lowers one hand under their thin blanket and _Oh_ , that explains the dream then _._

His first reaction is one honed by habit and necessity. 

Hide it! 

Clean up and hide everything. 

He knows how to sneak out of his cell. 

He knows where he can wait, unseen, for the Porter to make his rounds.

He only has to walk for a couple of minutes and then he can wash up in the Fiumara. 

He’ll throw away the wet, ruined straw to the stream and retrieve the beddings he’s hidden close.

He can do it. 

He knows how to do it. 

The brothers won’t find out this time.

But he’s not in Tabia. He’s not laying alone in his cell anymore. All the plans and strategies he’s since relied on are useless here. He lets out a low whine without meaning to and Yusuf tightens his hold on him once again. 

Yusuf.

Yusuf who’s lying behind him, offering him comfort even in sleep. 

Yusuf who will soon realize how pathetic and dirty Nicolò truly is. 

He can’t be here.

And he can’t wake Yusuf. 

He has to be silent; that he knows how to do. Yusuf is anything but a light sleeper, that will also help him.

* * *

Once free from Yusuf’s embrace, Nicolò hurries outside the small, run-down hut they’ve been calling home for the past few weeks.

He won’t look down at himself, but the light breeze that meets him out of the door only helps emphasizing the state of his nightshirt, making it cling to his damp skin which has started itching where it’s drying. 

He can’t run away like this. His clothes and everything he owns are back inside the hut and he can’t and won’t risk waking Yusuf.

He’ll wait for the morning. 

When Yusuf leaves to get clean, he’ll sneak inside and get a change of clothes. Nothing else. He doesn’t need, nor deserve, more. 

What he needs is to be quick, but he’ll leave a note as well. 

To apologize. 

Yusuf is not cruel. He will be disgusted, but he probably won’t throw away the rest of his things or send him away if he spots him before he can leave. 

Maybe one day Yusuf might even forgive him. 

  
  


Dejectedly, Nicolò makes his way to the small stream that runs its course among the trees just behind the hut.

He recalls one of the very few interactions he’d ever had with a boy his age back in Tabia. The boy, Oreste as he’d later introduced himself, must have escaped his parents’ watch and he had caught Nicolò by surprise in the abbey’s small garden, “Hi, what are you doing here?”

Nicolò had taken a moment to look around and make sure the other boy was really talking to him and that no one else was in the garden in that moment. Not many people usually spoke to him. “I live here”.

Oreste’s eyes and mouth had opened wide, painting his ruddy face with disbelief, “Really? Do your parents live here too?”

Nicolò had made sure to keep his voice flat when he’d given his response, “I don’t have parents”. 

“You don’t?”

He should have stopped there, changed the topic somehow, but he’d gone on instead, “I mean, I don’t remember them. I’ve always been here in Canneto”

“Did you do something bad? Is that why they left you here?”

Oreste’s question had been asked innocently. It had also helped Nicolò make sense of many things. 

That must have been it: He was bad. 

And he most likely had been bad from the very first breath he’d taken. 

His parents knew.

The brothers knew.

Oreste had only needed to take one look at him to know.

Soon Yusuf would know as well.

Unbidden, tears start welling up in his eyes making him halt his steps.

He shouldn’t cry. He has no right to and it only ever ends up making everything worse. 

He’ll just make even more of a nuisance of himself. 

It’s what Fratello Gedeone and others like him used to tell him after they'd put the birch away. Admonishing him as he hunched over, sobbing his apologies. At first those words only made him cry harder.

But he’d soon learned, fearing – and having known, deep inside, for a long time – them to be true.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With a sense of dread slowly creeping its way through him, Yusuf props himself on his elbows and throws the coverlet off their simple bed.
> 
> “Fuck!”
> 
> He winces at the sight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi again folks!  
> Have some more angst, but this time there's Joe and he's doing his best to make Nicolò's life a little less miserable :))

It’s still dark outside when Yusuf wakes up. 

He’s not exactly sure what pulled him from slumber, but suddenly he had felt a sense of unease creep up to him, forcing his eyes open to the dim light of the moon filtering inside. Now awake, he’s left feeling somewhat unmoored and disoriented. He looks around and tries to get his bearings.

He went to bed with Nicolò earlier, as usual, but he finds that Nicolò is not in bed anymore.

He chooses not to let himself worry too much about it. Surely he would have been roused if there had been a fight going on around him. Everything seems to be as they left it when they went to sleep, so maybe Nicolò is just outside to relieve himself. 

He smiles thinking that he might as well join his beloved outside with thoughts of kissing him under the moonlight taking shape in his mind. Nicolò always looks especially beautiful bathed by the silver beams.

A large yawn escapes him as he stretches, legs getting tangled in their sheets as he rolls on his back.

Yusuf’s pleasant reverie is interrupted when, slowly, he becomes increasingly aware of a strange feeling against the skin of his thigh. It feels damp, which is a little odd considering the nights aren’t _that_ warm yet. Now that he’s properly awake, a sharp smell seems to hit his nose all at once. 

With a sense of dread slowly creeping its way through him, Yusuf props himself on his elbows and throws the coverlet off their simple bed.

“Fuck!”

He winces at the sight: a wet spot standing out against the fabric covering their thin mattress; clearly visible even under the dim light of the moon. 

This is something… unexpected. It’s never happened before in their years spent together and for a moment Yusuf feels completely at a loss on how to approach it. 

Nicolò needs him though and that’s the only thing that matters to him at this moment. He’ll manage somehow. He thinks he’s done well so far in handling Nicolò’s peculiar predicament. He’ll just keep doing what feels right. 

His only hope is that Nicolò hasn’t been awake for long. He hates thinking about the distress this might have caused his beloved in the meantime. 

Rushing outside he heads to the stream behind their hut, sure he’ll find Nicolò there. He's relieved to be proved right, but the sight he meets almost breaks his heart. 

Nicolò is kneeling in the water, shoulders shaking and harshly scrubbing at himself. He’s still wearing his nightshirt and as Yusuf gets closer he sees the cloth has been scrubbed so much there’s now a tear on it. 

Heart racked with sadness, he walks into the stream – its chilly waters raise goosebumps on his bed-warm skin, “Habibi, that’s enough. You’re clean enough, I think. Come back inside with me”. 

He reaches out with one hand, but he’s barely even touched Nicolò’s shoulder that he flinches back, almost slipping, his beautiful eyes wet and wide with panic.

“ _Mi dispiace, non l’ho fatto apposta_ ”, he pleads. Then he seems to recognize Yusuf so he folds in on himself and covers his face with his hands, “You… you shouldn’t be here”.

Yusuf is frozen to the spot. 

The chilly water of the stream, which he usually finds so pleasant, now feels like a thousand tiny spikes of ice continuously and mercilessly lashing at his legs. Still, he takes a fortifying breath and kneels in front of Nicolò.

“I’m gonna touch you now, sweetheart, okay?”, he tries to school his voice to make it as gentle as he can. He approaches Nicolò the way he would a spooked animal, telegraphing each single movement. When he gets his hands on his hunched shoulders he gets another flinch in response and Nicolò freezes, body going completely rigid. 

Yusuf doesn’t let it deter him. He’ll have time to second guess each one of his movements and words later on and to agonize over what could have possibly warranted not simple embarrassment but such a harrowing response in Nicolò in the face of his accident. But right now he chooses to trust his instinct. 

Slowly he gets Nicolò between his arms, “Shhhh, I’ve got you little lamb”. He murmurs quiet nonsenses in his ear, strokes his hair and back, soothes him until he feels the tense line of Nicolò’s back relax a little although his entire body is still wracked by those horrible silent sobs, “Oh, habibi, you must be freezing. Let’s get you inside”. 

He manages to coax Nicolò out of the water and to walk him back to their home in what feels like a miracle, but all of Yusuf’s previous work seems to have been in vain as, once inside, Nicolò spots the rumpled beddings. He lets out a small whine like he’s been stepped on and, next, he rushes to put distance between their bodies. His back pushed to the wall, Nicolò brings his hands behind his trembling body to cover his bottom. 

Yusuf’s heart breaks some more, “Cuore mio, it’s okay. I swear I’m not angry”, he still won’t look at him in the eyes and he keeps shaking and flinching every time Yusuf comes closer.

* * *

Underneath the thick layers of panic and shame, there is a small part of Nicolò that recognizes the person in front of him as Yusuf. He knows, instinctually, that he can trust this person and right now Nicolò desperately wants to believe Yusuf when he tells him he's not angry. That same part reminds him that he can trust Yusuf's words, he has never hurt Nicolò.

 _Liar_ , a second, wicked voice inside his head asserts. _You are so bad he had to kill you for it._ Nicolò brings his hands over his ears and starts shaking his head, refusing to acknowledge those words. _It happened many times. You know it’s true._ But that was before. They’re friends now, lovers even, and Yusuf has never been cruel to him. 

He calls Nicolò a little lamb, he strokes his hair, and he hugs him and cares for him. 

“Nicolò!”

Hearing the echo of his name being called out loudly, he opens his eyes just a tiny fraction: Yusuf is standing before him, and he looks so broken. His hands are hovering mid-air as if reaching out to hug Nicolò before thinking better of it. “Sweetheart, please, don’t cry”.

_Don’t cry Nicolò._

_Stop crying!_

_We should have never taken him in!_

_He’s a disgrace_

_a distraction and a disruption!_

_Soiling a place of worship with his presence_

_This is the third time this week_

_Hands on your pallet_

_A nuisance!_

_Fetch the birch_

_Is that why they left you here?_

_Don’t be bad, Nicolò_

_Did you do something bad?_

  
  


He’s bad. 

He’s so, so very bad. 

He’s always been bad and no matter how hard he tries he can’t change that.

It’s all his fault if Yusuf looks so sad and he knows that crying is what bad, little boys do but he just can’t stop. 

He tries his best not to make too much noise because that’s the least he can do.

* * *

Joe is at his wit’s end. He’s never seen Nicolò like this in the many years they’ve spent together and he doesn’t know how to help him. Nothing of what he’s telling him gets past whatever downward spiral he seems to be going down. 

In the end the only thing he can think to do is to pull Nicolò back into his arms and to hug him tight to his chest. “Please, Nicolò. Please!”. He's not even sure he knows what he’s begging for. 

For Nicolò to stop crying. 

For his anguish to cease. 

For whoever hurt him this way to suffer even a tiny fraction of what Nicolò is going through. 

He doesn’t know how long they stay like that. Cold, wet shirts plastered to their bellies and thighs. One hand resting on Nicolò’s waist and the other buried deep between the soft strands of fine, brown hair, gently pressing Nicolò’s face to rest on his shoulder.

Gradually the tense line of his back softens, just the slightest bit.

“I don’t- I… I know you’re wondering and I- it’s not… I don’t do that!” Nicolò’s hands come up to grasp at his chest. Yusuf is careful not to show his surprise, he didn’t think Nicolò would want to talk about it, but maybe something in their position – not having to face Yusuf directly – is making it easier for Nicolò to open up. 

“I used to when I was a child, but I don’t- I don’t know why it happened. I..”, his breath is picking up again. Yusuf quietly shushes him and brings his hand up to rub his back.

A pause and a watery, tremulous sigh, “If you… if you didn’t feel like- I mean, if you are not...I- I would understand if you looked at m- me, at my body now and you couldn’t... it’s okay”.

Yusuf closes his eyes, he has a feeling he’ll be busy picking up pieces of his broken heart for a long while, “Nicolò, oh my Nicolò, I’ve seen your innards spilt on sand. I myself was the one doing the spilling once or twice and you think a little piss is going to make me love you any less?”.

Nicolò flinches at the word and answers back with a soft whisper, “This is different”.

“How?”

He grinds his forehead against Yusuf’s shoulder, “It’s gross and disgusting!”.

Yusuf shakes his head. A sad, little smile forming on his lips, “You think piss is grosser than innards, habibi?”.

A loud sniffle and then comes the miffed reply, “What is it with you and innards?”.

Yusuf is relieved to hear and feel the tension slowly leave Nicolò. “I just happen to think they’re way worse than a little pee. I promise you, habibi, it’s not a big deal. I mean, I hate that it makes you sad, but I honestly don’t care. Even if it were to happen again I won’t love you any less for it”.

Nicolò’s silence is very telling so Yusuf forges ahead, “Do you really think my love for you is conditional, habibi? To something like this?”.

“It’s not just about the pi- it’s everything! How could anyone love someone like this?”.

“Well, Yusuf al-Kaysani does, in fact, love someone like this, whatever that means!”. If Nicolò wants to be stubborn on this matter then Yusuf will show him he can be just as hard-headed, “Stick it in that obstinate head of yours! I love you, Nicolò. I don’t care what version of you I get, my feelings for you are no less strong. I love you and I want to take care of you and if my words can’t change your mind then I’ll gladly spend the rest of our eternal lives proving you wrong!”. He feels a bit silly giving such a heartfelt speech while facing the moldy wall of their hut, but if this is the only way Nicolò will listen to him then so be it.

“You always take such good care of me, of everyone really. Just... let me take care of you as well”, he adds quieter. 

Nicolò is silent and Yusuf decides to gamble one more time, trusting once again his instincts. He bends a little at the knees for leverage, putting his hands on Nicolò’s hips as he picks him up. Nicolò obliges with a surprised squeak, wrapping his legs around Yusuf’s waist and holding on to his neck with both arms.

Yusuf loves carrying Nicolò around. He’s done it only a handful of times and only for very short distances, but it’s something he relishes doing if only for the way Nicolò always seems to go soft and cuddly in his arms. 

He walks them to the table, it’s old but sturdy so he’s not afraid to sit Nicolò on it. He places a small kiss on Nicolò's forehead and goes to light one of their small oil lamps.

His sweetheart is very quiet now, observing him carefully with his legs idly swinging in the air.

Yusuf changes out of his damp bedclothes and retrieves a clean tunic and some old garments they’ve been using as makeshift towels. Walking back to Nicolò, he gently helps him peel the wet nightshirt off and slowly guides his arm inside the sleeves of the dry tunic. With that done he kneels and gently dries Nicolò’s feet and legs which are still damp after the impromptu midnight bath.

“Here we go, little lamb, you’re all dry now”, he looks up with a smile to see Nicolò’s now suckling on his thumb and that his cheeks and ears have taken on a pink hue visible even in the faint light of the lamp.

He turns to the bed and quickly decides they’ll deal with it in the morning, for now he contents himself with piling all the softest things they own on the floor, it’s not like they haven’t slept in worse accommodations. 

Once he deems the pile good enough, he stands back up in one fluid motion and turns to his Nicolò with a warm smile, “Come tesoro, we’ll sleep on the floor like travelers on an adventure!”

“Hug first?”, Nicolò ventures shily. It comes out a bit slurred around his thumb, but Yusuf understands him just fine. “Of course, little lamb!”, he engulfs his precious boy in his arms, holding him tight to his chest. He can feel Nicolò’s nose nuzzling against his neck, it’s one of the best feelings in the whole world. 

After the hug, Yusuf helps Nicolò get off the table with a little hop, “Come, habibi, I’ll tell you a story if you want me to”.

As they settle down, Nicolò half-drapes his body over Yusuf’s and turns his head upwards piercing him with those intense eyes of his.

“Thank you”, a pause and a blush blooming high on his cheeks, “I love you”. A quick, clumsy peck on Yusuf’s chin before he’s back to nuzzling his chest,“Tell me the story now”.

Yusuf lets out a small chuckle, “As you wish, little lamb”.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _"Mi dispiace, non l’ho fatto apposta"_ : “I’m sorry, I didn’t do it on purpose”
> 
> Wow, Nicolò’s headspace was a little all over the place in this second part. I hope it wasn't too confusing to follow and that you enjoyed it.
> 
> till next time ♥

**Author's Note:**

>  _Lauds and Prime_ : some of the religious services that the monks had to attend. Lauds at 3am while Prime at 6am  
>  _the Prior_ : I’m pretty sure the abbey in Tabia was too small to have a Prior in addition to an Abbot, but since I couldn’t find the information anywhere I’m just gonna pretend they had one shhh
> 
> Regarding children and corporal punishment, chapter XXX of the Benedictine Rule (aptly titled “How young boys should be corrected” ugh) explicitly allowed it to be used to discipline young oblates. One of the most common ways to discipline kids younger than 15 would be the use of the _ferula _(which dates back to the Romans and that I translated as “birch” in the story). Ask away if you’d like any further explanation on the matter.__
> 
> _  
> _Thank you for reading! The second and last chapter should be up… soonish._  
>  _


End file.
